


i wonder, could this be love?

by starrwatcherr



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love Confessions, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrwatcherr/pseuds/starrwatcherr
Summary: "When you touch me, I die." Lukas confesses in the dark of a tent against the howling wind. Faye wonders what they are to each other.
Relationships: Efi | Faye/Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	i wonder, could this be love?

**Author's Note:**

> i ache for these two. listened to too much gaga and i love them.  
> i'm @starrwatcherr on twitter.

“When you touch me, I die.” Lukas confesses. His breath hitches, chest tightening as her fingers stop above the button of his shirt. He’s staring down at her, dark eyes watching her every move. 

Faye stops from moving any further, the slip of her nightgown shifting as his hand clenches. He’s over her, lips wavering to kiss her skin. The buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing the scarred skin of his chest. She gazes up at the knight in red nervously before turning her gaze back to his chest. She stops undressing him, or whatever came before that confession. She can't remember.  Her fingertips trace the tops of his breastbone, keeping her gaze to his skin. She fights a flush, reminding herself that this is an education—not a romance, or _love_ Gods forbid. 

But Lukas continues to lay it on thick—a lover of the written word as he had confessed between lidded gazes across a fire. She's seen him indulge in small books before, borrowing some from Kliff or Silque or finding others; she's never been a fan of them, but she quite likes glancing up from sewing and seeing a thin smile upon his lips. She wonders if he is quoting poetry, something tender and soft that he holds close to this cold little heart. “I die, just little inside.” He whispers to her again; the tent shifts with the cool fall breeze that sends a shiver down her spine. “Every time I come close to the end, I long to linger in it. And when I’m away, I wish to touch you and feel the thrill of scraping by death.”

His lips further from her skin, staring her down with a furrowed brow and dark eyes that no longer linger, but instead focus on her. A soldier’s eyes, ones that have seen too much for any mortal man. His gaze burns her, like fire against the skin. She feels her stomach heat and ache and burn beneath her nightgown, her knees sweltering with heat. A reaction she has felt many times before.

For a split second, Faye wonders if this is love. Him over her, gazing into her eyes in the silence of her tent. The winds pick up beyond the canvas walls, reminding her that there is a world outside, both cruel and kind. A thundering heartbeat in her ears, reminding her that she is alive and here with him. His fingers tangled between her hair and the shoulder of her nightgown. 

_Could this be love?_ She wonders quietly, her breath and words escaping her.

“Your silence isn’t comforting. Did I do something wrong?” Lukas whispers, a hint of nervousness twisting his words. She doesn't like the sound it makes. She prefers when he hides a chuckle into his speech, or when a smile taints his thoughts. Those are nicer than nervousness and guilt, emotions she has heard in his voice recently.  


Words evade her. She touches his neck, a tender spot. Faye watches as he begins to crumble, back to a little death.

Does the Goddess of Zofia, of bounty and love, gaze upon her with ill intent? Does she judge them? Does she mock and loathe them? Did she tire of watching poor Faye long for someone who didn't love her and threw a handsome _noble_ to torture her? Or is this a sick game to her, breathing lust onto them and forcing their hands to reach for the other's in the shadows?   


She worries. Not should someone else hear them cry out or gasp whilst they carry on. She worries not about Silque or Clair coming into her tent with the need for girl talk. Or for tardy drop offs of torn garments in need of her needle and thread. Instead Faye feels her stomach twist and turn with fear and worry over the man that tells her he dies when he touches her. 

Does he love her? She’s been avoiding that word for so long. She had said it so willingly when she was a foolish young girl trying to cope with trauma. But now that word burns her. And like the fool she is, Faye aches, she craves, she longs and _yearns to_ know if he loves her. She opens her mouth to ask him as Lukas’s voice rumbles against her ear. 

“What do you feel when I touch you?” He asks, his breath against the shell of her ear. 

She reaches for his hand, cold in hers. She grasps it tightly, as though it will save her from damnation, from recurring nightmares, from the cutting whispers of the village women who spoke ill of her, from the monsters in her mind that twist reality,

He looks to her with something so tender and soft. Perhaps it _is_ love, buried beneath layers of dense armour to protect both of them. The wall that Faye has crafted to secure the pieces of her aching heart, and the steel that hides Lukas’s cold muscle. Lukas wants to learn how to love, and Faye is only showing him the basics. Foolish questions of love and worship and after the war aren’t meant for here and now. Perhaps ever. 

So she pushes herself up onto her elbows, clasping his hand tightly and kisses him hard enough to make him gasp between pursed lips. Coyly, she strokes her tongue against the roof of his mouth to distract him from the question. And when she parts for a breath, she ponders telling him that she doesn’t want him to die at all. She wants him to survive, to live. To love. To thrive. 

But instead, he looks at her expectantly. Faye pulls him closer to her. “I feel alive.” She whispers, before instructing him to undo the laces of her nightgown and press his lips to her breast.   



End file.
